


Here You Come Again

by templemarker



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: DADT, Established Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining in an Established Relationship, rainbow fucking everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric thought DADT was a dumb policy and was as aware as any other queer grunt that it didn't fucking work; either the guys you worked with knew and didn't give a fuck, or they pretended they were blind when they didn't want to see something. No one told fucking command, certainly no one in the Recon community, where lieutenants came and went but the grunts were there 'til the world burned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here You Come Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amoama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/gifts).



> Thanks to my awesome betas and alpha readers, especially Perpetual Motion and thewordbutler. Happy holidays!

Eric looked down at the text message on his phone. "THE MALL 10AM FRIDAY," it read, and he looked at the crowd of people milling and moving on the National Mall, large rainbow flags flying in the spring air. Tim had texted him a week ago, before he'd been back on base from his latest tour, before he had any cell phone signal to reply. He'd flown from Pendleton to DC on a redeye, straight off the Herc, to be able to make it. He'd called in a favor from a buddy, too, one that would cost him later on down the road. 

But ever since they'd--been together, done this thing, made it more than just convenient, great sex, Eric had made a point of always meeting Doc on his terms. Even when his terms were fucking difficult to deal with. 

Like right now: there was an anti-Don't Ask Don't Tell rally on the mall, at least a couple of thousand people showing up for it. Eric thought DADT was a dumb policy and was as aware as any other queer grunt that it didn't fucking work; either the guys you worked with knew and didn't give a fuck, or they pretended they were blind when they didn't want to see something. No one told fucking command, certainly no one in the Recon community, where lieutenants came and went but the grunts were there 'til the world burned. 

It's not like he wasn't aware of anti-DADT shit, is the thing, but he's active duty, fresh off a tour in the Sandbox with a cauliflower ear and a busted eardrum. He could barely make out anything clocking his three or five o'clock, just a rush of white noise broken up with shouts and laughter on his right side. He had immediate shit to worry about, and while it would be nice not to have to posture and shit around the officers, he didn't give a good goddamn about this shit happening stateside. He was already booked for civilian contractor training in Kuwait in nine months; he was cooling his heels here at most. 

For Tim, though, it was just another way the military fucked you, then turned you over and fucked you again. It was one of the things that had pushed Eric to chase Doc, a little, back in '03 when he was the only Navy Corpsman within reach. Eric had started by making excuses to go over and see him--it wasn't like he didn't go over to Bravo all the time anyway, to get a little sanity back from Brad and Poke. It was easy enough to ask about a laceration, or trench foot, or the genuinely roiling nausea in this gut. Doc always looked him over clinically, but by the fourth or fifth time, his already sharp gaze had sharpened further, and there was a considering look there. Eric always tried not to smile--certain times were easier than others, like when the shits started going around--but he figured Doc was catching on to what he was really there for, shits or not. 

They'd gone stateside, and in an out of the way bar with a pool table north of San Clemente, Eric had gotten to know Tim. He got to know him especially well up against Tim's apartment door, Tim's hands clenched on his ass, and biting kisses stinging Eric's neck. 

So here he was, active duty at a fucking anti-DADT rally. He was glad he was wearing an old Steelers cap and a Nike jacket. No military insignia to be found. But that didn't make it any less awkward and potentially dangerous to show up. That stupid, fuckable bastard. Eric liked him so goddamn much. 

His phone buzzed, Tim finally responding to Eric's text asking where he was. Eric scanned around, looking for the merch booth. He passed same-sex couples holding hands, holding children, making out against the side of the latrines. There were people with badges that said "Ally" and "Queer Friendly," older peaceniks and young trustafarians. Eric restrained himself from hunching into his jacket; he wasn't going to recognize anyone here, and no one would recognize him. It was hard enough to date your boyfriend when you were in combat in two different countries; Eric didn't need to end up on the news. 

He finally saw the sign for "HRC MERCH" poking up through the sky and patiently waded through the sea of people to get there. He spotted Tim before he himself was seen and drank in the sight. Tim's perpetual fuck-you mustache was on his face, and he wore his Hospital Corpsman ballcap like the provocation it was. He had on a thin tank top despite the cool weather. It was dark blue, with a neon yellow "=" on the front. Eric figured it was the logo of the organization that put this rally together. 

Tim was leaning over a table of shirts and hoodies, hands clenched into fists and pressed into the table. He was speaking intently at a kid in a black t-shirt with a needle on it, who was frowning at him. Eric watched them: watched Tim making an emphatic point; watched his short, buzzed hair catch the sunlight. It wasn't that Tim was beautiful--he was too hard to be beautiful, and Eric loved him for the kinship they shared in that. But there was something proud and fierce in the line of his profile, the same look that Tim had worn a dozen's dozen of times standing over the hurt or sickened body of a Marine or a native. Sometimes Eric's Marines, sometimes Eric himself. It zinged through Eric like a hit, made him clench his own hands into fists in his jacket pockets. Fuck, he wanted him. Eric had been thinking about him for weeks, pressed into the sandy dirt of an Iraqi mountain, thinking of Tim's firm chest and rough stubble while watching for assholes carrying IED components to and from a compound. 

He _wanted_ , and here Tim was in front of him, as far from Eric as though he were still ground into the dirt thousands of miles away. 

Someone bumped into Eric from behind, didn't even bother to offer a fucking apology, and the movement must have caught Tim's eye because he was looking dead at Eric when Eric looked over again. There was a small, secret smile on his face, and Eric felt himself moving forward involuntarily. He skirted a table selling tie-dyed rainbow shit and another selling vegan peanut butter cups, and slid between Tim's table and tent to stand next to him, body angled away from the entrance. 

"Eric," Tim said, his smile growing incrementally wider. 

"You trying to make a point here, Bryan? Or do you just like making me uncomfortable?" Eric said without malice. 

Tim's hand reached out to cup Eric's neck, a cool touch to Eric's flushed skin. "A little of column A, a little of column B," he said, stepping closer. 

Eric pitched his voice low. "You know, it would be pretty fuckin' queer for me to kiss you at a gay rally."

Tim smiled wide, a huff of laughter escaping him. "You are fucking correct about that," he said. "You look fucking awful and the best fucking thing I have seen all month. Do it anyway, grunt. Your Navy overlord commands you."

Eric laughed loudly, and he saw a few people turn to look, but he didn't care., He pulled his hands out of his pockets. "Fuck you," he said genially, and tugged Tim close to lick into his mouth. He resolutely pretended he was deaf to the whistles and cheers he heard nearby. 

"When can we get out of here?" he asked into Tim's mouth. Tim's chuckle did not fill him with lassitude.

"Sometime after the keynote. In about four hours," he said, running his hands over Eric's uncut hair. "I got you a t-shirt to wear. You're going to look sexy in it."

"I already look sexy," Eric countered, dipping his fingers past the waistband of Tim's jeans. "And you are a fucking evil man."

He felt a tug on his jacket, and Tim was threading a equal sign button through the top buttonhole. "They do say I'm a devil in the sack," Tim said, laughing.

Eric couldn't stop from grinning. "Shut the fuck up," he said, and pulled Tim close again.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Puckling and alamerysl for fighting off tags with a whip and a chair.


End file.
